HCAW 98

Chapter 98: Serpentine Shadows, Worm-Silk Lines

“Your Majesty?”

At that form of address, Fang Jingyu’s heart filled with doubt. No one had ever called him that before—except for one slip of the tongue from the Ruyi Guard, which he hadn’t thought much of at the time. But now, hearing Gu Bi Guard say it aloud, memories stirred in his mind.

Gu Bi Guard spun his fingertip and stowed away the Panguan’s Brush, (Judge Brush) folding his hands behind his back with a smile. He looked every bit the graceful gentleman, as pristine as a jade tree. “Forgive me,” he said lightly. “It seems I mistook you for someone else.”

He turned toward Prince Ji. “I didn’t quite catch it just now—may I ask where these honored guests hail from?”

Prince Ji moved his lips nervously, not daring to lie, and began pointing them out one by one. “This is the newly arrived Divine Maiden. That one is the personal bodyguard I just appointed. And this one… is his servant boy…”

Gu Bi Guard smiled faintly, folding his arms behind his back, but his eyes were locked tightly on Fang Jingyu. “But I could swear that this one doesn’t seem like a mere servant. If anything, he looks just like His Majesty who left this land years ago.”

Fang Jingyu’s heart gave a sudden jolt.

Then Gu Bi Guard added, “But perhaps it’s just a resemblance in outward form—his martial skill is nowhere near the late emperor’s.”

At this, Prince Ji’s jaw dropped. He immediately turned to argue, “L-Lord Gu Bi, are you saying this brat resembles Emperor Bai more than I do?”

Gu Bi Guard closed his eyes and smiled. “Your Highness needn’t worry. In manner and bearing, of course you are the truer likeness. This man merely has the look—his form resembles, but not the spirit.” Only then did Prince Ji breathe a sigh of relief. Fang Jingyu, however, thought to himself: Saying this pig-headed lump resembles Emperor Bai? The Emperor would rise from his grave just to refute that.

Just then, a shout of outrage rang through the hall.

“Bald bastard! What are you doing to His Highness? Take your filthy eyes off him!”

The voice belonged to none other than Chu Kuang, who charged forward like a gust of wind, brandishing a folding stool and flailing with fury.

It had all happened too fast—most present hadn’t yet reacted. But the moment Chu Kuang saw Fang Jingyu under threat, his rage exploded. In his urgency, he even shouted “Your Highness” aloud, revealing everything.

Gu Bi Guard effortlessly evaded the blow, his eyes narrowing slightly. The seemingly gentle youth suddenly moved like a hawk—grabbing Chu Kuang by the wrist and hurling him against a lacquered pillar. A groan escaped Chu Kuang’s throat as his bones cracked—he lay there writhing like a wounded animal. Gu Bi Guard’s martial prowess was terrifying. For a man still recovering from serious wounds, Chu Kuang had no chance.

Gu Bi Guard looked down at him with a cordial smile.

“Why are you here as well… Tianfu Guard?”

Chu Kuang froze. Then he felt the grip on his wrist tighten like iron chains. Gu Bi Guard chuckled. “That said, your skills have declined. You’re full of hidden injuries, covered in scars and filth… not at all like the friend I once knew.”

Teeth clenched, Chu Kuang still couldn’t shake off his grip. He played dumb. “What dog’s fart is that! I’m Prince Ji’s newly appointed Tianfu Guard—I don’t need to take this crap from you!”

Prince Ji’s face turned pale and he began shaking his head rapidly, fearing Gu Bi Guard would take offense. He stammered, “L-Lord Gu Bi, that title was just a little joke! It meant nothing—no offense meant!”

Gu Bi Guard smiled serenely. “It’s fine. His Highness enjoys his mischief. I’m well aware. Once he ascends the throne, he may bestow any title he pleases. As for the Tianfu Guard, that’s merely the name of a man who died decades ago. Seeing this familiar face stirred old memories, that’s all.”

He let go of Chu Kuang’s wrist, and Chu Kuang immediately staggered back, eyes sharp with wariness. Gu Bi Guard bowed with impeccable grace. Every movement of his radiated refinement—if not for the glacial chill in his gaze, anyone would find him charming.

Prince Ji scolded them in a low voice: “You two country bumpkins, watch and learn from Lord Gu Bi!” But Fang Jingyu thought: Ha! This petty schemer couldn’t hold a candle to Minsheng.

Though expressionless on the surface, Fang Jingyu suddenly pressed his hand to his sword. A cold gleam swept the hall—the tip of Hanguang flashing straight for Gu Bi Guard’s forehead! But Gu Bi Guard seemed prepared; with a flick of the foot, he floated aside. At once, the guards around the hall reacted, drawing blades in unison and leveling them at Fang Jingyu.

Gu Bi Guard’s expression darkened slightly. Fang Jingyu, lips curled, said,

“Forgive me, my lord. Since you suspected we might be Emperor Bai and Tianfu Guard, I too wondered if you were truly Gu Bi Guard. So I took the liberty of testing it—seems you’re not a fake.”

A wave of killing intent surged through the hall. Prince Ji nearly toppled over in fear. Who in Daiyu would dare raise a hand to Gu Bi Guard? It was madness.

Yet Gu Bi Guard merely smiled and defused the tension.

“This young man, who bears such a striking resemblance to the late emperor—if I was too rough earlier, I apologize. But seeing your skills, I suddenly thought of a task that might suit you both.”

He turned back to Prince Ji.

“May I borrow these two for a few days, Your Highness?”

Prince Ji hastily nodded.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang exchanged wary glances. Gu Bi Guard smiled warmly.

“No need to worry. It’s nothing so dangerous. There’ve been strange rumors in the city lately—talk of demons in the countryside, people dying in the night. The locals are terrified. I suspect it’s no demon at all, but a manmade horror. If you two can track it down and bring the culprit to justice, I will reward you handsomely.”

Chu Kuang immediately countered,

“But we’re His Highness’s personal guards. If we leave our posts, who will protect him?”

Prince Ji snapped,

“Stop babbling! Just do as Lord Gu Bi says!”

Gu Bi Guard smiled.

“It’s no trouble. While you’re out patrolling, I’ll personally protect His Highness. I won’t leave his side—he’ll be safe.”

This, of course, spoiled Chu Kuang’s plan. He’d gone through great lengths to infiltrate the palace so he could study the gate to Guixu and collect the blood vials. Clearly, Gu Bi Guard wanted them gone.

Just as Chu Kuang was about to make a snide remark, Gu Bi Guard’s eyes narrowed like a serpent’s.

“As for the reward—take a look at this.”

He produced a mottled black pigskin pouch from behind him. The bag reeked of ominous mist. Inside squirmed lumps of twitching meat—the very thing the Da Yuan Dao sect leader had given them.

The two were stunned. So it hadn’t been lost to the sea after all—it had washed ashore and been picked up by Gu Bi Guard’s men. The flesh was a double-edged blade, dangerous yet powerful. It had saved their lives more than once. Without it, they’d have perished in Penglai or Yingzhou.

Chu Kuang asked cautiously,

“My lord, we’re just lowly men with little knowledge. Could you tell us what this is?”

Gu Bi Guard smiled.

“What a jest. Who in Daiyu doesn’t know this? It’s Immortal Elixir—a miraculous substance said to heal and strengthen.”

Chu Kuang retorted,

“This isn’t Immortal Elixir!”

“Oh?” Gu Bi Guard tilted his head. “Then what is it? I’d love to learn from you.”

“It’s… it’s a black, sweet liquid,” Fang Jingyu recalled the thick brew he’d once drunk.

Gu Bi Guard’s expression briefly flickered with confusion—but he quickly masked it. “Then I must be ignorant. If brewed into wine, I imagine it would be easier to consume.”

Fang Jingyu thought to himself: Perhaps this remote place simply doesn’t receive the real thing from Emperor Changyi. But why wouldn’t a Xian Mountain Guard like Gu Bi have seen it before?

For now, the two had no choice but to keep the meat. With dangers ahead, they couldn’t afford to lose any advantage. Though unwilling, they accepted Gu Bi Guard’s commission and soon packed their things to patrol the city.

The streets bustled with life, banners fluttering overhead. Outside bookstores and painters’ stalls, on courtyard walls and windowsills, everywhere were paintings of Emperor Bai—each one exquisitely inked. In them, the figure stood like jade pine atop a mountain, graceful and resplendent.

Chu Kuang stepped into the street, peering around like an excited sparrow just let out of its cage. Pointing at the portraits hanging everywhere, he said to Fang Jingyu,

“Your Highness, look! Your noble face is posted all over the place!”

Fang Jingyu, worried about drawing attention, had already hidden his face behind a veiled hat, only his gleaming black eyes visible.

“That’s not me. That’s my seventy-six-year-old father,” he replied. “With this face plastered everywhere, it doesn’t look like a portrait—it looks like a wanted poster.”

Indeed, the people of Daiyu didn’t recognize Emperor Changyi’s authority. Most of them were Emperor Bai staunch supporters, and in every alley and neighborhood were statues and murals depicting him—riding fast on horseback, sword raised to command thousands. The city also often displayed Emperor Bai Gazing at the Sea painting that the palace soldier had once shown them: the emperor sitting by the ocean, eyes filled with sorrow.

They strolled aimlessly through the streets. Daiyu was a city of splendor, its avenues lined with stalls selling fine silks, ivory and deer sinew, roasted sugarcane stalks—everything imaginable. There were street shows too: painted faces and peace-drum dancers drawing crowds. With no leads on Gu Bi Guard’s so-called murderer, they simply wandered.

After a while, they heard the sharp crack of a whip—it was a street-clearing squad. Civilians scattered in haste, folding up their stalls.

“Strange,” said Fang Jingyu. “Could Prince Ji be coming through?”

Chu Kuang shook his head.

“The formation’s different—likely the patrol cavalry. I heard Daiyu’s defenses are tight. Iron cavalry sweeps the streets several times a day.”

As they spoke, they too followed the crowd to the roadside. Soon the air filled with dust, and a squadron of black-armored cavalry thundered past. They wore shattering maces on their backs, armor glinting with cold steel. Only the eyes of horse and rider were visible—forming a moving iron wall. The hoofbeats struck like thunder, making one’s heart pound. These cavalry forces numbered nearly a hundred thousand in Daiyu. The two men exchanged wary glances, both silently alarmed.

Once the cavalry passed, they resumed their stroll. The streets remained as bustling as a temple fair, thick with crowds. Chu Kuang gawked at street parades and puppet boats, enchanted. He pestered Fang Jingyu to let him dig through his purse for sugar-laced cakes, marrow pastries, and red-syrup plums. Fang Jingyu thought of how Minsheng had once taken him through markets like this.

When Chu Kuang returned with a stack of paper-wrapped sweets, Fang Jingyu thought again: Why do his tastes so closely mirror my brother’s?

They wound through Sheepfold Lane, turning many corners, until Chu Kuang said:

“Your Highness, wait here—I’m going to scout ahead.”

They had arrived at an abandoned estate—overgrown grass, pines and cypresses thick with shade. The flower lattice windows were dust-covered and webbed, and the walls bore crawling ivy among blooming clusters of red arrow flowers. Fang Jingyu felt an odd sense of familiarity, though he couldn’t place it.

Like a cat, Chu Kuang slipped through a window hole and disappeared inside. Some old men sunning themselves on wicker chairs in the alley laughed toothlessly, saying:

“That’s an old place—no one’s been in there for twenty years…”

Fang Jingyu asked,

“What place is this?”

“It used to be a great household. Both father and son made it as Xian Mountain officiers. But alas, they died on the battlefield. With no heirs, the place fell into ruin.”

Fang Jingyu was intrigued, but just then Chu Kuang clambered back out and said evenly:

“Let’s go, Your Highness.”

“What is this place? Why’d you go in?”

Chu Kuang shrugged.

“I heard from some palace guards that this used to be a wealthy house. Thought I’d see if there were any coins left behind—but no luck. Let’s get back to the main road.”

Fang Jingyu narrowed his eyes.

“Thieving laborer—still up to your sneaky tricks?”

Chu Kuang grinned.

“Pay me more allowance and I’ll behave. The more you give, the more I’ll sell—not just my strength, even my body!”

Trading jabs, they made their way back into the streets. Daiyu sold many odd and rare goods—seven-foot-long dog-headed eels, braised duck monstrosities, and “stink-hair fungus”—none of which could be found in Penglai or Yingzhou.

They wandered into a corner when Chu Kuang suddenly lit up and tugged Fang Jingyu’s sleeve.

“Your Highness—this way.”

He pulled him into a dusty shop, dim even at high noon. Inside were all sorts of intricate devices: miniature compass carts, hand-crank fans, and “Immortal Fire Lamps” painted with the Emperor’s likeness. Several bronze crossbows hung on the walls, including one attached to an arm-guard—crafted with astonishing precision.

As they admired the weapons, a crisp voice called out:

“Gentlemen, see anything you like?”

They turned to see a young boy lift the curtain. His face was wrapped in fine cloth, but couldn’t fully hide the bruises underneath. It was the very same boy they had rescued from Prince Ji’s torture pole.

The boy beamed with surprise.

“Aren’t you the two lords from that day? To think you’d grace my little shop—what an honor!”

“This is your store?” asked Fang Jingyu.

“Yes. My family’s gone, but Grandfather left this shop behind. I make plum-locks and bucket traps to sell to peddlers, just enough to scrape by.” He scratched his hands shyly. “If not for your rescue, I’d have been dead. I still haven’t repaid the medicine cost… I’m saving up.”

Chu Kuang waved it off.

“Forget it. I was injured too—gave you the leftover scraps.”

The boy saw through the fib and chuckled.

Chu Kuang added with a grin,

“Next time, don’t rush revenge. These things take patience—even ten years isn’t too long. We’re still under someone else’s roof now. But if we get the chance, we’ll help you out.”

The boy lowered his head, lips trembling. Fang Jingyu elbowed Chu Kuang,

“And you have the gall to lecture others? You act like a rabid dog when you’re seeking revenge.”

Chu Kuang glared daggers at him.

After a pause, the boy smiled again.

“Let’s not talk about my troubles. Did either of you see anything you liked? I’d be honored to gift it to you.”

Chu Kuang scanned the shop and pointed to the crossbow with the arm-guard.

“How much for that?”

The boy hesitated, face changing slightly.

“You can have it for free… but it’s hard to use.”

“What do you mean?”

The boy took it down and led them through a curtain into a courtyard. Inside were wooden dummies and an arrow target. He mounted the crossbow onto a short-armed dummy, aimed, and triggered it. Swish, swish! Several arrows flew fast and straight into the target. Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang cheered in unison. Chu Kuang was baffled.

“It seems great—why say it’s hard to use?”

The boy pointed apologetically at the wooden dummy’s arm.

“My lords, as you can see, this bracer only fits someone who’s missing a piece of their arm.”

Chu Kuang was struck dumb, then burst out:

“Couldn’t you people have just made it a little longer?!”

“It was designed for soldiers who’d lost limbs on the battlefield,” the boy explained. “The crossbow is heavy. If the arrow chamber and bow weren’t mounted inside the arm, it would be too unwieldy to use. It’s awkward, yes—but this was built from blueprints left by my grandfather. It has power, just not practicality. I… don’t know how to redesign it.”

He pulled the release again. This time there was a rapid series of thwip-thwip sounds, like a swarm of dragonflies beating their wings overhead.

Suddenly, the target stand collapsed with a crash. The bullseye had been blasted to splinters, as though crushed by an invisible giant hammer.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang were both stunned.

The boy grinned.

“If you ran into a charging warhorse, this thing could take it down in one shot.”

They admired the crossbow for a while—reluctant to part with it—but knowing it had limited use, they ended up buying only a few knickknacks instead. Just as they were about to leave, the door curtain rustled behind them—someone was coming in.

They turned to look and saw a scruffy-faced man lift the curtain. He wore a patched cotton robe with a diagonal collar and held a tobacco pipe in one hand.

The two of them exclaimed in shock:

“Mule?!”

______

Dim lanternlight lit up a cottage of sea-grass thatch. Outside the eaves, a steamer basket hung with a white pigeon fluttering inside. The walls were red granite. A worn six-person table, a few stools, a straw pile—this was Mule’s home in Daiyu.

Mule led Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang inside and offered an apologetic smile.

“Forgive the cramped house, Your Highness, Master Chu.”

Fang Jingyu replied,

“No matter. We’re not delicate people.”

They sat and chatted like pouring beans from a bamboo tube. To find a familiar face in a remote place was a great comfort.

After sharing stories, they learned that though Mule had been caught in the storm that day, his experience had saved him—clinging to driftwood, he swam to Daiyu. He had a residence here and was used to moving between strongholds. Though he’d also been searching for survivors, today was the first he’d run into the two of them. As for the boy who made clever devices, Mule had long been acquainted with his family. The “The King Yama’s Whistling Arrows” Chu Kuang had commissioned before leaving Penglai had been finished at that very shop.

In turn, they told him their story. After hearing it, Mule sighed.

“To think you both managed to get close to Gu Bi Guard—remarkable.”

Fang Jingyu frowned.

“Even so, we can’t do anything to him yet. Do you know what became of the rest of the people from the ship? If we could regroup, perhaps we’d stand a chance.”

“Young Master Zheng’s whereabouts are still unknown,” said Mule. “But I heard some sailors washed ashore and were taken by the guards—locked in Yuan Earth Prison.”

“Then we’ll sneak in and free them another day.”

Mule chuckled.

“Your Highness is bold, but you may not yet know the two most dangerous places in Daiyu.”

“Which two?”

“First, the coast. Ao turtles—creatures foundational to the Three Xian Mountains—lurk there. They blast wind and wave at any boat that draws near. One mistake, and you’ll be scattered like we were. If one swallows you whole… it’s an endless, sunless grave.”

Fang Jingyu nodded grimly.

“Second is the Daiyu Town gate. Gu Bi Guard, Bai Huan Guard, and Bi Bao Guard rank third, fourth, and fifth among the Xian Moutains Guards. If they join forces, they could shake the heavens. Daiyu also fields ten thousand iron cavalry. Breaking through the gate is nothing like slaying a single Yu Ji Guard in Yingzhou. To rescue people? That’s near impossible.”

The gravity of it made Fang Jingyu break into a cold sweat. Escaping Daiyu was a different beast from Penglai or Yingzhou. Still, seeing Chu Kuang’s unbothered expression gave him a measure of calm.

He asked quietly,

“You’re not afraid?”

“Afraid of what?”

“The difficulty of getting past the gate.”

Chu Kuang chewed a grass stalk.

“We already defeated Yu Ji Guard. Why fear the rest? My life’s yours, Your Highness. What’s a few brushes with death to me? If I get scared and that scares you, then that’d be a real problem.”

In the warm lantern glow, his eyes shimmered like twin moons. Fang Jingyu breathed easier.

“If you’re not afraid, then neither am I.”

“However—” Mule said, “I think I told you before, I’m of Bai Huan Guard’s bloodline. If we come up against her, I might be able to speak a few words on our behalf.”

Fang Jingyu had forgotten.

“You’re related to Bai Huan Guard?”

Chu Kuang flashed a feral grin.

“Quick! Hand over your blood! We’ve got a ‘blood bait lock’ to open!”

But Mule waved his hands in apology.

“My ancestor was a Bai Huan Guard, but I share no blood with the current one. The lock on the gate was made with the current Bai Huan Guard’s bone—it won’t open for me. But with my lineage, if I plead with her, perhaps she’ll show mercy.”

The two exchanged disappointed glances. They’d forgotten that the Xian Moutain Guard title was hereditary—not all holders were blood kin. Mule gave a bitter smile.

“Don’t lose hope. The previous Bai Huan Guard crossed the sea and left me many writings—travel accounts and field notes. I may not open the gate, but I have much to share.”

He hesitated, then added,

“But now… is not the time. Gu Bi Guard has eyes everywhere here. If I speak too plainly, it may disrupt everything. That would do more harm than good.”

The two didn’t quite understand. Mule said,

“Just remember this: Daiyu is no paradise. Stay here too long, and it’ll trap you. The people are lost in the past, drunk on this false Peach Source.”

With those words, the long-standing unease in their hearts finally seemed justified. Daiyu’s glittering surface was just a shell—beneath lay rot.

The burned histories, the missing sundials, the cold yet charming Gu Bi Guard, and that mysterious Prince Ji… this land hid massive secrets.

Fang Jingyu narrowed his eyes.

“What exactly do you mean?”

Mule hesitated, then gave a stiff smile.

“It’s better you see it with your own eyes, Your Highness. If I told you too soon, you might despair. But once you reach Guixu, you’ll understand everything.”

After a bit more conversation, Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang took their leave. Mule said he had items to prepare for their plans ahead—they would split for now and regroup later.

Leaving the seagrass house, Fang Jingyu looked up at the sky, dazed.

He could no longer return to Penglai. Like an arrow loosed from the bow, he could only fly forward—no turning back.

Then he felt warmth on his fingers. Turning, he saw Chu Kuang’s hand wrapped tightly around his own—firm, unyielding, like spring warmth. Chu Kuang grinned:

“Your Highness didn’t get enough of Daiyu’s streets yet, right? Let’s go—we’ve still got patrols to finish!”

Fang Jingyu’s heart settled. What was there to fear anymore?

If he was the ship, then Chu Kuang was the anchor. Back in Penglai, Chu Kuang had broken through countless enemies to grab his hand and vowed to bring him out of Penglai. And now again, he gripped that hand—his smile thawed like melting ice—and for the first time in Daiyu, Fang Jingyu smiled too.

Before them stretched a flood of light and sound—crowds bustling, the city alive. They were two birds about to plunge into the vibrant world.

Amidst the clamor, Fang Jingyu spoke softly, as if answering a vow from ten thousand years ago:

“Alright. I’ll go with you.”